


Companion

by ninemoons42



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Androids, Gen, Technological Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42





	Companion

  


title: Companion  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
word count: approx. 2060  
fandom: X-Men: First Class [movieverse]  
characters: Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Jean Grey, Raven Darkholme, Irene Adler, Emma Frost, Armando Munoz, Hank McCoy  
rating: PG  
notes: Inspired by [this](http://tmblr.co/ZIJNMxHLhPBK) except there's no sex because they just met? Haha plot bunny fail. No powers, university AU, fooling around with timelines, androids.

  
 _Strange,_ Charles thought. _Who could be sending me a package?_

Well, there weren't a lot of names on the list, to be sure. Raven was kind of preoccupied these days; she and Irene were getting married in a matter of bare weeks and the few times he'd managed to see her, she was always harried or wistful or clinging (to him or to her fiancee, she didn't seem to be picky to be honest).

His mother or stepfather? Please. If they couldn't be bothered to acknowledge his existence on the days when they were _required_ to, viz., his birthday, Christmas, and the New Year, they were not going to be sending him a package. Much less one that had to picked up from the post office because for some reason it could not be delivered to his own front door.

Emma, maybe? Some best friend she was. Besides, she was just evil enough that he knew she would attempt it - he knew that she still had quite a bit of blackmail material on him, and that she was forever looking for more. The memory of being dressed up like some kind of stripper in a blue-sequin dress and a fire-engine red wig _and_ shiny black go-go boots still left him hideously embarrassed, even though that had been, what, six years ago?

Dressed to go out in a jumper with an unravelling right sleeve - he had to reknit that, maybe tonight if he finished one of his papers early? - he called to the redhead stepping onto the elevator. "Jean! Hold the door please!"

"Hello," she said, smiling and helpfully pulling the skewed collar of his oversized peacoat back down. "I thought you were up to your ears in midterms, what are you doing going out?"

"Very strange phone call," Charles said, a little loudly, to be heard over the odd grinding of elevator gears and cable. "Apparently I have some kind of package waiting for me at the post office."

"They deliver," she said, mildly. "I just signed for one of Scott's care packages. And don't worry." She held up one ink-smudged finger. "He got you the tea you were looking for. As soon as I find it I'll knock."

"Thank you," Charles said, grinning, and he waved her out of the elevator and held the door of the building open for her as well.

Brisk spring wind already blowing, smell of green shoots, promise of better weather to come. Charles stuck his hands in his pockets and turned the corner, long strides eating up the pavement, chasing the weak afternoon sunlight that left him casting a pallid shadow, running ahead of him.

The middle-aged clerk at the post office gave him a confused/suspicious look as he showed her his student ID, and asked for a second proof of identification - mystified, Charles dug through his battered wallet for his driver's licence. Thank goodness Raven had bullied him into getting it renewed. If he couldn't drive here because he disliked driving on the wrong side of the road, he could at least use it as another key that could help solve this strange postal mystery.

"Follow me," the female clerk, whose name tag read _Janice_ , said, and she opened the gate that led past her booth and into the back room.

Charles coughed and sneezed and whispered, "Sorry," and followed the woman past shelves packed full to bursting with neatly piled packages of all shapes and sizes.

"That one's yours," she said, and pointed to a tall, thin box propped upright in a corner of the room. Just enough weak light fell onto it from one of the high, dust-covered windows to read the label by.

There was no mistaking that it was addressed to him; that was his name out on the front. The post marks were smudged and nearly indecipherable, however, and there was no return address.

"Would you be able to tell me, Janice, if you could find out who sent this?"

"No," was the short reply.

Charles's polite smile became a little strained at that.

Eventually he enlisted a burly postman's help in hauling the box out onto the sidewalk - it was almost as heavy as Charles himself - but from there he had no idea what he was going to do. He still had to walk the few blocks back to his dorm, and he was about to pull out his mobile phone and ask Raven or Irene for help when someone called his name.

"Hey, Charles!"

He whirled around - and smiled at the sound of an engine sliding smoothly into idle. Armando, whom everyone called Darwin, and who was just about one of the few people who used a car to get everywhere on campus. If the car was also a black cab that seemed to have come straight from the streets of London, no one paid any mind, except for Charles because it always made him a little bit happily homesick. "Nice package," Darwin said.

Charles rolled his eyes and came forward to the passenger-side door to shake hands. "Bad innuendo aside, you've come to save my life."

"Got the heads-up from Jean," Darwin said. "Not sure what she was expecting when she said you might need help with something from the post office, but I don't think she was thinking about a package that large."

"It's even taller than Hank, I know," Charles said.

"Your friend the TA, right? Yeah, I can see that," Darwin said. "But I think if we set it on the diagonal the two of you can fit in the back seat."

"Thank you," Charles said fervently. When they got to his dorm he fumbled in his pocket for fifty dollars. "Dinner's on me, and believe me, you're going to need that, if you're going to be feeding your roommates too."

"When don't I have to," Darwin laughed. "Hey, thanks."

On his own again with the oversized thing, and strangely compelled to apologize to it as he wrestled it into the elevator and down the corridor back to his single.

Exhausted, Charles went to make a pot of tea and a sandwich - and finally, impulsively, he went to get a box cutter from one of the kitchen drawers.

The first incision into the box went into the area around the label - he wanted to be able to inspect the stamps later on. Then, cutting carefully into the seams of the box, Charles pried the first layer of packaging open.

Inside there was another box, this one a plain white except for a second label. Bar code, and underneath, the following text.

**Designation: EML Mark Four 942**

"That's not helpful," Charles mused, out loud, and cut that label out as well for reference. There wasn't even a company name.

The second box had flaps clearly marked _Open here - Handle with care_.

Charles gulped, and finished opening the box, and.

"What the fuck," he said, out loud.

And again. "What the **fuck**!"

Reaching for his mobile phone again, and he was halfway to hitting the speed dial for his sister when just as suddenly he had the impulse to cancel the call. He needed to catch his breath, he had no idea what was going on, and who would send him a package like this, and why was there an android in his dorm?!

Charles hurriedly threw the lid of the box back down and turned his back on it. Covered his face with his hands, tried to breathe properly. He was going to hyperventilate. He had no idea what to think. He had no idea what was going on. He wanted answers, and there was no one to ask.

 _Well,_ said a voice in his mind, _you could ask him._

 _Who's_ him?

Charles said, suddenly, "The android."

This time he dropped a shot of brandy into his tea. A sip for courage, a wince, and he opened the box and located the manuals. The first page told him where the power switch was - in the hollow behind the right ear.

Charles switched on the lights and peered carefully into the box. He wasn't relaxed, but now he was at least some kind of curious. The android was...all right, he looked bloody beautiful. Ginger hair curling off a broad forehead, sculpted cheekbones, a narrow mouth. Long limbs and a slender torso. If he got to his feet he'd tower over Charles easily. Plain black turtleneck, black trousers, barefoot.

He peered curiously at the android's feet. Large and well-shaped. A mark near the left ankle indicating origin - and, oh, that was helpful. Sort of. He'd never heard of the company before, though, and he was at a university where everyone talked about the latest developments in robotics like they were as fascinating as sports scores and the latest celebrity gossip.

Though, come to think of it, he really didn't know any students who actually owned android units.

Now there was one in his cramped and crappy room and he was...waiting.

With no idea what was going to happen next, Charles wiped his sweaty hand off on his jumper and reached carefully for the android's switch. Soft skin under his fingers, yielding under gentle pressure.

Click.

Quiet whir and hiss of actuators and servos coming online. Charles imagined lines of code raining down behind the android's closed eyes, booting up like any other computing device.

An idle thought: he had no idea what this particular android was capable of doing. For all he knew it was programmed to take over the world through violent means? He hoped not. Though he did have some kind of place to hide if the world decided to go to shit - if Emma was willing to put him up.

Something went _ping_ , and a tinny, distant voice said, "Systems activated. Memory banks online. Buffers and software updated. Initialization complete."

Charles caught his breath as the android opened his eyes. Grey, he had dark grey eyes, with straight black lines instead of blood vessels running at irregular intervals through the sclera.

"Hello," the android said. Rough burr of an accent shaping the words; a deep, unmistakably masculine voice. Laugh lines around the eyes and mouth. "Are you my owner?"

"I think?" Charles said. "At least, you were sent to me, and I have no idea by who, and actually I turned you on in the hope that you'd answer that question for me."

Brief flickering impression of curiosity in that beautifully constructed face. "Sorry, I'm not equipped to answer that question."

Charles sighed. "I figured as much. Well, until we find out what's going on, maybe we can be friends. What's your name?"

"I'm a type EML Mark Four, unit 942."

"That's what your box says," Charles said, pouting at the android. "Give me your name."

"I don't have one. Naming me is supposed to be your job," the android said. He raised an eyebrow at Charles.

Cheekily, Charles gave the gesture right back, and tilted his head to the side for good measure. "Have you got any preferences? Otherwise you'll be stuck with something silly, something ordinary, like Max. Or, hmm, do you look like an Eric or do you look like an Erik?"

"I am assuming you are speaking about differences in orthography," the android said. "You are talking about whether I would prefer to be Eric with a C or Erik with a K."

Charles couldn't help but grin at that - both at the put-upon expression on the android's face and at the careful way he spoke. "Precisely said, thank you."

The android seemed taken aback by the smile - and after a moment did the same. Goodness, but he had quite a lot of white teeth, and a lovely smile that seemed to brighten up that face, seemed to put a genuine spark in those eyes. "I'd like to be Erik with a K, if that's all right with you."

Charles nodded, once, and held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Erik. Call me Charles. I've no idea what brought you here, but let's hope neither of us comes to regret it, yes?"

As he shook hands with his new...companion...was it just Charles's imagination, or was that an actual determined edge in Erik's expression?

He supposed they would just have to find out.  



End file.
